


Blame it On Rose

by SqueekaCuomo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkwardness, Beverages, Cabins, Community: hd_erised, Cute Kids, Difficult Pregnancy, H/D Erised 2018, M/M, Magical Accidents, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Parenthood, Past Draco Malfoy/Neville Longbottom, Pining, Pining Draco Malfoy, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Second War with Voldemort, child illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-23 21:31:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17088101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SqueekaCuomo/pseuds/SqueekaCuomo
Summary: An underage witch’s magic can besounpredictable.





	Blame it On Rose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [khalulu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/khalulu/gifts).



> khalulu! Merry Christmas, lovely! I took most of your prompts and mooshed them into a ball and the result is… this. :P I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Thank you so much to K, my emergency beta. You were SO helpful and made the process so easy and enjoyable. I loved working with you.
> 
> Dear mods… Thank you from the bottom of my heart. You were there for every step of the way, despite being a total problem child this year. Thank you for allowing me to finish this, even if it took me longer than it should have. Given the past few months, it means more than I can say. *hugs*

**Spring**

Harry’s foot slammed into the ground, crunching delicate ice under his trainer. All around him there was a delicate layer of shimmering ice covering the branches and ground, the blades of fresh spring grass just starting to turn green. If he hadn’t been so desperate to catch up, he’d have stopped and looked around. He didn’t know where he was, the woods didn’t look familiar, even the trees didn’t seem quite right, but it was still beautiful. 

A flick of a tail. 

A flash of orange. 

Harry pushed himself harder as he caught sight of the blasted thing running ahead of him. As he tried to keep up, Harry snagged his sleeve on a branch and he stumbled. That was all it took for Crookshanks to disappear into the trees again. How, he wondered, had Hermione’s horrible cat even gotten out of the house. After the last time he’d disappeared, Hermione had put up a ward to keep him from escaping. The cat was getting on in years and she’d been afraid that one day he might wander away and never come back. Harry had never cared for the cat, but he knew that it would devastate her to lose her beloved companion in such a way. They’d been together for quite a long time now.

“Where are you?” Harry hissed as the cold air burned his lungs. With the cat lost, Harry spun around, taking in the forest. For the first time, he wondered not only where he was, but how he’d gotten there. 

A few minutes ago, he’d been sitting in Hermione and Ron’s living room, watching Rose play with Hugo and Crookshanks. The next thing he knew, there was a flash of light, most likely involuntary magic from Rose, a puff of purple smoke and a scream as Hermione called out, begging Harry to get her cat. Now he was running through an unknown forest in the chilly air wearing only a ratty old t-shirt and jeans. At least he hadn’t taken his trainers off, Harry thought. That would have made things _really_ miserable.

Bouncing on the balls of his feet to try and keep warm, Harry scanned the forest and called, “Crookshanks!” He looked around, hoping to see the fur ball trotting towards him, bottle-brush tail held high. But all he managed to spot was a squirrel giving him a dirty look before it dropped a nut on Harry’s head. If he hadn’t been so shocked, he might have thrown something back at the squirrel, but before he had a chance, the rodent scurried off. 

Harry decided that he was wasting time. He had no idea where Crookshanks had gone and there was no way to know how far the cat had run in the few moments Harry had been standing there. If he’d had his wand, he could have cast a quick Summoning Charm and Apparated back home in the space of two minutes. But, as it was, he was stranded in an unknown forest without a wand and no idea how to catch an escaped Kneazle. 

A rustling to the left caught Harry’s ear and he took off after it. It was probably that squirrel, but then again, he might just get lucky and catch the cat. Harry dashed through the trees, taking care not to get caught by any low hanging branches.

What he forgot to look out for were roots sticking up out of the ground. One moment he was dashing through the icy trees, the next he was tumbling to the ground.

His foot wedged under a sneaky root partly covered in leaves, Harry barely caught himself with his hands. He hissed as pain shot up through his wrists, but he seemed to have escaped serious harm. Gingerly, he worked his trainer out from under the branch. He was just twisting his ankle to make sure it was okay when he heard an unforgettable drawl coming from above. 

“Potter. Why is it that you’ve come to my neck of the woods?”

Draco Malfoy.

Merlin, Harry hadn’t seen him in ages. Hadn’t even thought of him in years. After the trials, he’d seemed to have melted away into the wizarding world. For a while, the Malfoy name would pop up in the _Prophet_ —never anything good, of course. But Harry couldn’t remember ever having run into any of the Malfoys or even catching sight of their silver-blond hair since. With everything that he’d been going through, Harry hadn’t even bothered to wonder why. In retrospect, Harry felt kind of bad about that, like he should have cared more. But then again, they’d been enemies their entire lives. Harry couldn’t really blame himself for moving on and trying to get his own life back together after the war.

“Malfoy,” Harry said. It was only then that he realized he was still sitting on the cold ground, the melted ice soaking into the seat of his jeans. He tried pushing himself up as gracefully as possible, but he was no more graceful now than he had been at eleven. “I…” Harry’s voice trailed off as he took in Malfoy’s appearance. 

He looked older, obviously. They were in their thirties, of course they were older. But it seemed strange. The last time he’d seen Malfoy, he’d been a war-torn teenager with the haunted look of one who’d seen unspeakable horrors on a daily basis. Now here Malfoy stood, as tall and lean as ever. He wore black pants that seemed too posh for the woods and a jumper that looked like something a Muggle professor might wear, complete with pockets in the front and elbow patches. His hair, which had always been fine and silky, was now touched with grey and pulled back at the nape of his neck. And perched on his nose were a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles that magnified the slight lines around his grey eyes. It was strange to see him like that, but Harry thought it suited him.

Malfoy was, Harry thought, quietly handsome. 

The thought didn’t surprise him; he hadn’t snogged a girl since his split from Ginny. The fact that it was _Malfoy_ did give him pause, but he decided to ignore it. It had been so long, Harry was bound to consider how Malfoy looked. 

Malfoy’s left eyebrow raised as Harry brushed his palms off on his jeans. “Yes?” It wasn’t really a question, but a prompt for Harry to say something. 

“I…” Harry repeated, feeling brilliant. “I was chasing a cat.” It sounded lame, even to him. “Hermione’s cat got loose, I went after it.” 

Malfoy’s eyebrow went from raised to furrowed in an instant. “And you ended up in America?” 

“America?” Harry gasped out the word. “We’re in America?”

“Yes…” Malfoy eyed Harry, suspicion in his eyes. It was clear that he didn’t believe what Harry was telling him. “What _exactly_ are you doing here, Potter? How did you find me?” His spine straightened and his arms went rigid, and it looked like he wanted to run but was fighting the urge. 

Harry quickly put his hands up in surrender. “I’m just looking for Crookshanks, honestly.” The look on Malfoy’s face didn’t change. “I was at Ron and Hermione’s house, their daughter is underage, you know.” Malfoy couldn’t possibly know that, Harry thought, but he didn’t correct himself. “She was playing with the cat and must have had a burst of magic. The next thing I knew I was here, chasing after it.”

“And you ended up in a different country because of a child’s magical outburst?” Malfoy sounded skeptical, but Harry could see his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly, so he lowered his hands. “I find that hard to believe.”

Harry decided to play charming, hoping it would further relax Malfoy. “She’s the child of Ron and Hermione.” He shrugged like that should explain everything.

And surprisingly, it did. 

Malfoy nodded and seemed to let himself relax completely. “That still doesn’t explain what you’re doing _here_.” He gestured vaguely at the forest around him.

“About that… Where is _here_ , exactly?” Harry couldn’t bring himself to believe that they were really in America. He wouldn’t tell Malfoy he agreed, but it was hard to believe the magical outburst had done this. That was usually only enough to cause a small explosion, or inflate an aunt. Not send someone to an entirely different continent. 

“We’re in Wisconsin, Potter.” 

Harry laughed once, like it had to be a joke, but when Malfoy just looked at him, not saying anything, Harry felt the truth of it sink in. America. They were in America. “I… But…”

“Sauk County to be exact, right outside of a little town called Baraboo. This is Devil’s Lake.” 

“In… did you say… Wisconsin?” Harry knew that Draco was speaking English, but he still had a hard time wrapping his head around the idea that he was no longer in England. 

Malfoy gave him a look that was so achingly familiar that Harry felt like he was eleven years old again. “Yes, Potter, Wisconsin.” He didn’t quite sneer, but his expression was close enough that Harry could see the Malfoy he’d known and loathed through his professorial façade. He couldn’t help but laugh a little. “What is it that you suddenly find so amusing?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Harry waved him off. “It’s just been so long since I’ve seen you. I’d almost forgotten the way your lip curls up when you try to look intimidating.

“It most certainly does not. I—”

“Have you seen an orange cat?” Harry cut Malfoy off before he could get too worked up. “I really do need to find him and if we really are in America…”

“We are. I assure you.” Malfoy looked like he was intentionally trying to relax his face, which only made Harry want to laugh more. “Why don’t you just cast a Summoning Charm?”

Harry coughed sheepishly and looked at the ground. “I don’t have my wand.”

“What was that, Potter?” 

Harry couldn’t tell if Malfoy really hadn’t heard him, or if he was enjoying getting back at Harry for laughing at him.

He lifted his head and stared Malfoy in the eye. “I haven’t got my wand. It wasn’t in my pocket when I was…sent here.” 

This was it, the moment that would define how things would go for them. Either Malfoy would lay into him for being wandless and they’d end up in a fight, or Malfoy would understand and, just maybe, they would be able to remain civil towards each other for a little longer. 

Harry waited with bated breath as Malfoy considered his options. It was clear that he could feel it hanging in the air between them, too.

Finally, Malfoy sighed deeply and pulled out his wand. “What is the beast’s name?”

Harry wanted to tell Malfoy never to let Hermione hear him refer to the cat as a beast, but he kept that to himself. “Crookshanks.”

Malfoy looked at him as if to say, “seriously?” before holding out his wand and saying, “ _Accio Crookshanks_!” It only took a moment for a Crookshanks to come zooming their way, meowing plaintively as he did. Though Malfoy had cast the charm, Harry reached out and caught the cat like a large, ginger Snitch. 

Crookshanks squirmed in his arms, eager to run. “A little help,” he squawked as he tried to hold on. Next thing he knew, the cat froze solid in his grasp. It wasn’t exactly ideal, but it was an improvement. 

Without a word, Malfoy turned and walked away. Harry didn’t know if he should follow or stay put, but then he remembered that he didn’t have his wand. He could always Apparate home… True, he’d never done it with a frozen cat in his arms, but he could always try. But what if something happened to Crookshanks? What if he somehow managed to splinch Hermione’s cat? The animal already looked like it had gone through eight of its lives, how much more could it handle? 

Harry was just about to ask Malfoy if he had a Floo he could use when the blond turned back to him. “Well, are you going to come along? Or do you plan on standing out here all day?”

“I… Er…” Harry looked down at Crookshanks, who looked up him with wide, unblinking amber eyes. As far as Harry was concerned, they were in agreement. Following Malfoy was a much better plan than attempting to Apparate. “Yeah. Where are we going?”

Malfoy began walking again, stepping over fallen branches and avoiding tree limbs like he was well acquainted with the forest. “My cabin, Potter. It’s not far.”

Of all the places in the world for Draco Malfoy to live, Harry was pretty sure that the woods had to be at the bottom of the list. Well… maybe the Burrow was at the bottom, but the woods had to be right above it. Harry wanted to ask why he was living out there, but before he could, a small cabin came into view. 

From the outside, it was nothing special, just a small log home with two windows and chimney and what looked like another small room out back. Vaguely, he wondered if maybe it held plants, or if it might be some sort of sitting room. There were flower baskets under the windows, covered in a fine layer of ice, and dried out vines hung over the edges of the baskets. There was a mat out front and smoke coming out of the chimney. It was the exact opposite of everything Harry had come to associate with Malfoy. 

It was, in a word, cozy.

With a simple wave of his wand, the door lock clicked and Malfoy pushed it open, welcoming Harry inside. Stepping over the threshold, Harry didn’t quite know what to expect. He was used to dwellings that were magically enlarged inside, but that’s not what he found. Instead of a miniature version of Malfoy Manor, he found himself in a cottage. An actual cottage that he wouldn’t have been shocked to find the Weasleys in. It was magically enlarged, but only slightly. From what Harry could tell, there was a small living room, kitchen, bathroom and what he assumed was the bedroom. There was also a closed door that Harry guessed led to the larger room he’d seen outside; it seemed to radiate energy and he wondered if it was magically enhanced to be bigger on the inside. 

“You can put the cat down, Potter. The cottage is warded and there are no small children to set him free.” Malfoy pulled off his sweater and hung it on a hook by the door before walking to the kitchen and waving his wand at the kettle perched on the stove. Unfrozen, Crookshanks pushed out of his arms and jumped on the couch. It was large enough for two and had a knit blanket thrown over the back. The cat circled himself twice before lying down in the middle and curling up into a fluffy ginger ball. 

As Malfoy worked in the kitchen, Harry looked around. The living room was small; there was just enough room for the couch, an end table and an armchair in front of the fire. The top of the mantle was bare except for two pictures, one of Malfoy, Parkinson, Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle from what Harry guessed was around third year and a more recent one of himself with his mother. Narcissa looked much frailer than the last time Harry had seen her. At the trials she’d looked strong and defiant, but in the picture her hair had lost its shine and her cheeks were sunken. Despite that, she beamed up at her son, who clutched her tightly to his side. Harry only barely noticed that Lucius was absent before a small black pot caught his eye. A shimmer of green around the rim told Harry that it was, indeed, Floo powder. 

He was just about to ask if he could use some when Malfoy came into the room, a small platter holding a teapot, two cups and a plate of biscuits bobbing before him. Harry wondered why he hadn’t just carried it, but Malfoy seemed happy to show off a bit.

“Now, Potter, I can’t send you back out into the cold without first warming you up.” The tray perched itself on the table with a perfect landing and Malfoy sat on one end of the sofa, taking care not to disrupt Crookshanks. 

Before Harry had a chance to sit, Malfoy waved his wand and Harry felt the seat of his jeans go warm before drying completely. He jumped a little and Malfoy smirked.. Trying to regain his composure, Harry gestured to the Floo powder. “I. But….” Malfoy followed his hand and Harry caught the hint of something on his pointed face. It felt impossible, but Harry thought it seemed like… shame. Before he could consider it further, Malfoy spoke.

“If you wish to be off so soon, you may use the Floo.” His tone was a hair cooler than it had been and Harry instantly regretted what he’d said. “By all means.” He nodded at the pot of Floo powder on the mantle.

“No, I, er…” Harry reached up and rubbed the back of his neck, a sure sign of agitation. “That’s not—” Malfoy’s eyes flashed in a way that could only mean, _it is exactly what you meant._ “I’m sorry.” Harry’s hand dropped to his side and he sat down on the other end of the couch, nudging Crookshanks with his knee. The cat looked at him and yawned, stretching his mouth wider than seemed possible before curling closer to Malfoy and falling back to sleep. 

“No, it’s fine. If you want to get back, I understand. I’m sure Granger is eager to see—”

“Weasley,” Harry said. Malfoy arched an eyebrow. “She’s a Weasley now.” Harry nodded. Small talk had never been his strong suit and any sort of talk with Draco Malfoy had always ended in tragedy. This whole thing was just too weird. Harry had spent a lot of time putting his past behind him, endless hours with Mind Healers had done wonders, but he wasn’t sure if he’d ever feel comfortable with Malfoy. There was just too much water under that particular bridge. 

“I see.” Malfoy waved his wand once and a tea cup and saucer zoomed towards Harry. Harry took it instinctively, happy to have something to do with his hands. Once Harry had his, Malfoy placed his wand on his lap and proceeded to pour himself a cup by hand. It was a strange switch, to go from wand to hand, but Harry didn’t comment. “Biscuit?” He nodded at the plate of chocolate covered treats, but didn’t move to hand Harry the plate.

“I’m good, thanks.” Harry really wanted a biscuit. They looked homemade, not something out of a box. They didn’t quite look like they were Molly’s quality, but they looked close enough. But for some reason, Harry felt frozen in his seat, like if he moved the fragile bubble forming around them would burst. 

“Hmmmm,” Malfoy hummed into his tea cup. His foot twitched uncomfortably. 

“Yeah…” Harry took a sip and tried not to wince when the hot liquid burned his tongue. The tea was a little bitter for his taste, but the milk and sugar were too far away. 

“I brew it myself.” Malfoy seemed to consider what he’d just said. “What I mean is, I gather the herbs and dry them myself. It’s my own blend.”

“It’s good.” Harry took another sip and forced himself not to cringe as the bitterness caused his taste buds to seize up. Malfoy watched him, scrutinizing every little face he made. It was unnerving and Harry had to fight even hard to stay straight-faced.

Malfoy took another sip from his own mug, his foot still jiggling. “There’s sugar and milk, if you’d like.”

“No, no.” Harry felt the muscles in his legs cramp up as he thought about reaching for the milk. “I’m fine.”

Malfoy nodded, his gaze fixed on the cup and saucer in his hands. 

“So…” Harry pressed his lips together and looked around, trying to think of something to say. “America?”

For the first time since sitting down, Malfoy’s foot stopped moving. “Yes. It wasn’t the plan at first, but I’m happy here. It’s … quiet.”

“What was the plan?” The words were out before Harry even knew they were there. 

“Well…” Malfoy drew the word out with a sigh, like he was considering the question. “At first, I was just trying to get as far from the Manor as possible. I tried Ireland, France, Italy… nothing felt right.” Harry watched the blond. He was looking into his tea, but it was clear that he wasn’t seeing it. “I decided to try the Amazon and I happened upon Longbottom and Lovegood.”

“Luna and Neville?” Harry bit into a biscuit and then glanced at it in confusion. When had he picked it up? And why did it taste so amazing? They weren’t Molly’s, but they were close. 

“Mmmhmmm,” Malfoy nodded slightly. “They were studying native plants. I was lost. In more ways the one. They invited me to join them. Well, Lovegood did. I can’t say that Longbottom was thrilled about the idea, not at first anyway.”

“At first?” Harry took another bite and cringed when a piece of biscuit broke off and fell into his tea with a tiny _splash_. Malfoy smirked.

“We quickly came to the realization that his gift for herbology and my skills in potion brewing went hand in hand.” 

All Harry could think to say was, “huh.”

“It took a bit of time, but we finally figured out how to work together. It was… cathartic.” Malfoy smiled for the first time since they’d run into each other.. A real smile that caused the corners of his eyes to crinkle just a touch, which made Harry smile ever so slightly.

Harry was at a loss for words. He couldn’t begin to imagine Neville ever getting along with Malfoy, but then again, if Luna had been there… Well, she had a way about her. Harry was positive that she must have brought them together somehow. Even after being tortured in the Malfoy Manor basement, she’d been the first to forgive. Harry had always envied her that, how she found it so easy to accept others, no matter what.

They sat in silence for a bit. It wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t horribly uncomfortable either. More than anything, it was strange, like something out of a fever dream. 

Popping the last of the biscuit in his mouth, Harry looked down at Crookshanks. The cat was still fast asleep, and it seemed a shame to wake him, but Harry’s skin was beginning to itch. He wanted to get home. He needed to get away from Malfoy. He had a feeling that this was something that would come up at his next Mind Healer appointment. “Well, umh…” he started. Malfoy’s head snapped up and it was clear that he knew what was coming. “I best get Crookshanks back to Hermione. I bet she’s—”

“Yes, of course.” Malfoy placed his tea cup on the end table a bit too hastily, causing it to clink harshly. “Wouldn’t want Granger, I mean, Weasley, to worry.” There was something in the tone of Malfoy’s voice that made Harry feel guilty, like he should offer to stay longer, but he didn’t. Instead, he set his own cup and saucer on the table and scooped up the sleeping cat. Crookshanks stirred in his arms and squirmed so that he was looking over Harry’s shoulder. When Harry leaned forward to stand up, the cat sunk its claws into his shoulder, in an effort to stay put. It hurt; Hermione really needed to cut his nails again. 

“Er, thanks for the help.” Harry walked over to the fireplace, gripping Crookshanks as tightly as the cat would allow. 

“Anytime, Potter.” Malfoy stood next to him, his hands in his pockets. Harry could just make out the subtle twitching of his fingers through the fabric. “It was…” Malfoy trailed off, like he didn’t know what to say. Or maybe it was because he couldn’t bring himself to say that it had been nice seeing him. Either way, Harry was relieved that Malfoy had stopped himself because he didn’t have any idea what _this_ had just been. 

He did know that it hadn’t been completely awful, though he’d never admit that out loud.

Harry nodded and grabbed a pinch of Floo powder from the pot, carefully juggling Crookshanks in his arms. He didn’t know what else to say, so he tossed the glittering green dust into the flame and said, “Weasley Place!” before disappearing into the flames.

**OOOOOOOOOO**

Malfoy watched as Harry disappeared into the ashy swirl. He didn’t quite know how to feel. He was sort of relieved to see Potter gone, but at the same time… he’d enjoyed seeing him. Not Potter, per se, but a familiar face. He didn’t have much contact with the UK wizarding world anymore and he hadn’t bothered to find a place in the American one. And though he did have a few local friends and visitors from home, seeing Potter’s face had made him feel lonely. It wasn’t that he wanted to move back to England, but… Oh, honestly, Draco didn’t know what he wanted.

He’d felt that way for a while now. 

He wasn’t really lonely, but he wanted someone around.

He wasn’t homesick, but he missed the familiarity of home.

He wasn’t unhappy, but wasn’t happy. 

He was just… discontent. 

_Maybe that’s what I am_ , Draco thought, as he picked up the mess on the tiny end table by hand. It was odd, but he’d found that he liked doing things by hand rather than wand. He enjoyed the act of brewing a kettle of tea, of wiping up the crumbs that biscuits could leave behind. He even enjoyed cooking and baking the Muggle way from time to time. 

But when he saw Potter standing in his living room, Draco hadn’t been able to bring himself to serve Potter by hand. It had felt too intimate, like letting Potter see him stripped down, defenseless. It was stupid. But that didn’t change the fact that he hadn’t been able to hand Potter a cup or offer him a plate from his own hand. He’d had to serve him by wand instead. What a fool he must have looked like. 

Draco threw his washcloth down on the table and dropped ungracefully onto the sofa. He pulled the ribbon out of his hair and shook it out,the ends brushing against his chin, before letting his head fall back on the sofa. He suddenly felt exhausted, like he hadn’t slept in days even though he’d had a full night’s sleep. It was ridiculous that spending barely thirty minutes with Potter had left him so drained. 

“Completely ridiculous,” he said to the empty room. “I am a complete idiot.”

Trying to shake off the weird feeling that had fallen over him, Malfoy made himself relax. Tea. Tea would help. He picked up his mug, still practically full, and tapped the rim with his wand. It instantly started to steam. Draco inhaled the warm tendrils before taking a drink. Unlike when Potter had been there, he took more than a sip. Before he could stop himself he coughed, the mug shaking in his hand. 

Far too bitter, after all.

 

**Summer**

“What is it, Harry?” Hermione grasped Harry’s elbow gently, but he could tell she wouldn’t let go without an answer.

“Nothing,” he lied. 

“Harry, please.” It was the closest she would come to telling him that she knew he was lying to her. Harry felt the guilt well up in his stomach, but he didn’t say anything. What could he say? He could barely find a way to describe his current state to his Mind Healer, let alone Hermione. 

“Honestly, I’m fine.” Another lie. 

Hermione rolled her eyes at him and clutched his elbow more tightly. They walked around the garden together in silence for a bit. The garden at Weasley Place wasn’t much, just a small backyard with a garden that was more weeds than tomato plants and some flowers that grew wild along the fence, but Harry loved it there. It felt homey and familiar, like everything related to the Weasleys. 

Hermione was very, very pregnant and currently five days overdue. The mediwizards at St. Mungo’s had ordered bed rest, but she’d refused. So for the past few days, Harry had stopped by to walk around the garden with her a few times. Part of him agreed with Ron that they should cast a charm and immobilize her, but they’d both decided against it, not knowing what it would do to the baby. (Or how Hermione might retaliate.)

“I think that’s enough for now,” Hermione finished her second turn around the garden and gingerly sat down in a lawn chair that seemed to strain under her weight.

“Mummy!” Rose came running out of the house, a glass of lemonade in her hand. By the time she reached them, she had more lemonade spilled on her bright purple sundress than in the glass, but Hermione still beamed at her and accepted the offering. She took a sip and brushed the girl’s red curls out of her face. “Hullo, uncle Harry,” the little girl said, looking up at Harry with bright brown eyes. 

“Hi there, Rosey Posey,” He smiled down at her. Normally he’d swoop her up into a hug, but he had no desire to end up soaked in lemonade. “How’s my girl today?”

“Mummy says I’m not allowed to bring Crookshanks outside,” she pouted and batted her eyes at Harry, like she wanted him to change Hermione’s mind.

Hermione sighed in exasperation. “Oh, Rose, we have talked about this. After what you did the last time I left you alone with Crookshanks—”

“But that was an accident, mummy!” The little girl pouted.

“And what’s to say you won’t have another? Hmmmm?” Hermione set her empty glass on the ground and eyed her daughter. “Crookshanks is very old. I would hate for something to—”

“Stop upsetting your mother.” Ron came rushing out of the house, a towel over one shoulder and a small boy barely younger than Rose in his arms. “You know better than that.”

Rose continued to pout, but she at least had the grace to look a little sorry for what she’d done. This was clearly a conversation they’d had many times before. She opened her mouth and Harry caught Ron giving her a warning look. He was stressed, trying to work at the joke shop, take care of Hugo and Rose _and_ care for Hermione. Harry could see the exhaustion in his best friend’s eyes and he felt a pang of guilt in his stomach. He thought he’d been helping out by walking with Hermione and visiting, but apparently it hadn’t been enough. 

“Here, how about I take Rose inside and get her cleaned up. Maybe we can even find something to eat after.”

Ron closed his eyes, like he’d just eaten the most delicious sweet imaginable and Rose hopped up and down at the prospect of a snack. But it was Hermione who spoke up. “Oh, Harry. That would be wonderful. I’m afraid that I haven’t been much help these past few weeks. Poor Ron has had—”

“It’s my pleasure.” He took Rose’s sticky hand. “What else are uncles for?” He smiled at Hermione and Ron. Ron looked like wanted to say something, but Harry shook his head. “Come on, Rose, let’s see what kind of trouble we can get into inside.” No sooner had Harry said the word _trouble_ and Rose was dragging him towards the house.

**OOOOOOOOOO**

Hermione smiled as Harry ran after Rose, but Ron looked like he was about to cry. From the look on his face, Hermione could tell that he was wondering just exactly what _trouble_ meant. “Oh, Ronald, they’ll be fine.” She was half-way through rolling her eyes when she grabbed her belly in pain. Ron rushed to her side and dropped to his knees, Hugo still balanced in one arm. “I’m fine,” she said. “Just gas pain.” Ron didn’t look like he totally believed her, but before he could say anything, there was a flash of blinding light in the house and two screams.

The first was Harry screaming, “Nooooooo!” 

The second was Rose, in her high-pitched voice, shrieking, “Uncle Harry! Where did you go?”

Hermione reached for Hugo; it was all she could do. No sooner was the baby in her hands that Ron sprinted towards the house. The last time this had happened, Harry had ended up farther away than Hermione ever imagined possible. Hermione had been attempting to research the limits of Apparition and traveling magic, but so far, she’d only come across one explanation. 

Aliens.

And even the Quibbler wouldn’t try to pass off that Muggle excuse as reality.

No, it had to be something related to Rose’s magic. A child’s uncontrolled magical outbursts were notoriously unpredictable, but this was a whole other level. If Harry was gone again, they might have to take her to St Mungo’s. It was a thought that Ron dreaded and a conversation that he and Hermione kept putting off. 

****

OOOOOOOOOO

When Ron finally made it to the house. He rounded the corner into the kitchen so quickly that he had to grab the door frame to keep from falling. “Rose!” he called out, looking for his daughter and Harry. Neither were to be found and he felt his heart clench. But then he heard a familiar sniffle that was sure to be followed by a wave of tears…

“Daddy!” Rose must have been sitting on the kitchen floor, because her bright red hair finally peeked just above the counter top. She walked around the counter and stood in front of her father, a pout on her face and fat tears rolling down her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to…”

****

OOOOOOOOOO

Harry crashed into the hard ground and rolled a couple of times, sticks jabbing him in the side and rocks scraping his bare arms. When he finally stopped, he was face down in green grass and surrounded by trees. He wondered where she had sent him this time as he rolled over onto his back. But he didn’t have to wonder long.

Standing above him, a small bouquet of plants in his hand and a confused look on his face, was Malfoy.

“Potter,” he said. “Interesting meeting you here. I didn’t expect to see you again.”

“I didn’t expect to be back again.” It sounded ruder than he’d meant it and Harry instantly regretted it. “I’m sorry.” He pushed himself off the ground and held his hand out towards Malfoy. “I didn’t mean—”

“Yes,” Malfoy considered Harry’s hand, but ignored it, “you did.” 

Eventually, Harry dropped his hand. “Okay, fine. I did. But not like…” He took in the disbelieving look on Malfoy’s face. “I wasn’t trying to be rude.”

“I know,” was all Malfoy said. It seemed like he was content to let Harry struggle for words. Perhaps that was his punishment for being rude, even unintentionally. 

“So… Uh…” Harry looked around, searching for something to say. What he’d said before was the truth; he really hadn’t thought he’d find himself outside Malfoy’s door again. It wasn’t that he hated the idea of it, or that he didn’t want to be there. It was just… strange. After the last time, he’d found himself thrown off balance. It had been weird, like seeing Malfoy had woken something inside of him. It hadn’t felt like their old school rivalry, but rather, something different, something new. It had almost been like meeting someone for the very first time. Which, in a way, he had. 

This Malfoy, who had traveled with Neville and Luna, who brewed tea and kept to himself in a cabin in the woods, was nowhere near the posh, stuck-up, rich kid that Harry had known in school. If Harry hadn’t known Malfoy back then, he never would have believed the two were one in the same. And he kind of liked that. 

What he didn’t like was standing there like an idiot, trying to come up with something to say. And Harry had the feeling that Malfoy was letting him struggle on purpose. So,\ maybe things hadn’t completely changed, after all. 

“What are you doing out here?” Harry asked.

“I could ask you the same.” Malfoy’s lips twitched slightly, like he was trying to hold back a smile. And if not for that, Harry would have thought that he was being rude. “Well… what are you doing out here?”

Harry shrugged, like it should have been obvious, as if to say, “What could possibly have brought me here?”

“Again?” was Draco’s only response.

“Yeah.” At a loss for what to do with his hands, Harry shoved them in his pockets. 

“This child sounds like she could be dangerous.” Malfoy looked surprisingly… kind. Like he really meant what he said. “Perhaps—”

“Ron and Hermione have discussed taking her to St Mungo’s.” Harry didn’t really want to discuss Rose’s health with Malfoy. It seemed a little too familiar, like they were closer than they were.

Malfoy seemed to take the hint and nodded, without saying anything else. 

Harry flexed his hands in his pockets and looked around. It was July and summer was in full bloom. The trees were green. There were small flowers peeking out of the ground here and there. In the distance, Harry could hear something rustling around, some sort of animal, he guessed. (He vaguely wondered if it might be the same squirrel that had assaulted him before.) And there was also laughing. The sound was faint, but Harry could still hear it. “What—” he walked towards the sound “—is that?”

Malfoy walked up behind him and before Harry could take another step, Malfoy grabbed his arm. “You’ll want to watch your step, Potter.”

“What? Why?” Harry looked down and only then realized that he was very close to tumbling over the edge of a bluff. Down below was a bed of rocks that fed into a lake. From what Harry could see, there was a beach not far away that was covered in what Harry could only assume were— “Muggles? Where are we? And why didn’t you mention that we were on a mountain?”

“We are on a bluff, Potter. Not a mountain. This is a Wisconsin state park. Malfoy dropped Harry’s arm, but Harry noticed that it took him a few moments longer than what was really necessary. 

“Why…” Harry unconsciously reached up and rubbed the spot Malfoy had just released. It felt the same as always, firm and arm-like, but still… it seemed different somehow. It was almost like Malfoy was still holding onto him and Harry found that he didn’t mind that. He would never admit it out loud, but he didn’t mind it.

“Despite the _Muggles_ ,” Malfoy said, packing as much disdain into the word as possible, proving that he was still himself deep down, “I find it... peaceful here. It’s almost like being home.”

“But isn’t Malfoy Manor home?” The words were out before Harry could stop himself, but as the question hung in the air between them, Harry found that he really wanted to know the answer. He looked over at Malfoy and studied his pale profile as he considered the question.

“Not for a long time. Come along, Potter.” Malfoy turned from the bluff and started walking. Harry didn’t hesitate to follow. 

“Hold on…” Harry said. Malfoy stopped abruptly and Harry ran into him. He grabbed Malfoy’s arm instinctively to steady himself before saying, “No, I didn’t mean…” 

Malfoy turned just enough for Harry to see the look of annoyance on his face. “If you didn’t want me to stop, Potter, why did you tell me to hold on?” When Harry dropped his arm, he noticed Malfoy’s gaze flicker down to where they’d just touched. 

“I didn’t mean that I actually wanted you to _stop_ moving. I just had a thought—”

“And that was enough to confuse your ability to speak?” 

Harry thought he should have been angry, but there was a hint of a smirk on Malfoy’s face that calmed his irritation. 

“Very funny,” Harry said sarcastically.

In response, Malfoy’s lips split into a genuine smile that reached his eyes, making their grey a little less gloomy. “I thought so.”

“I’m not surprised.” It was Harry’s turn to smile, even if he was slightly more cautious about it. “What I meant was… the Muggles. You have a cabin in their woods. Don’t you ever worry about running into them when you’re,” Harry tried to find the right words, but none came to him, “doing whatever it is you do out here?”

Harry heard Malfoy whisper, “whatever it is I do out here,” under his breath and wondered if he’d said something wrong. He didn’t see how he could have, but with Malfoy, who knew. “I set up wards when I first decided to move here. If a Muggle gets to close, they become confused and wander off towards the beach, suddenly filled with a desire for ice cream.” Harry wanted to ask why ice cream, but he kept his mouth shut. “The wards are pretty standard, much like the ones placed on Hogwarts. I also have this particular area charmed so that we are essentially invisible to anyone who should happen by.”

“Essentially?” 

“Do you ever have the feeling that you just missed something out of the corner of your eye?” Malfoy waited and Harry nodded. “It’s because you _did_ miss something.”

“Oh,” Harry said as he thought about Hermione using a similar spell to conceal their tent during the war. 

“Come along.” Malfoy didn’t wait; it was like he knew that Harry would follow. 

Which, he did.

“So, what _do_ you do out here?” Harry stepped over a root and stumbled over the next while Malfoy walked on with the grace of a Thestral.

“Plants, Potter. I work with plants.” Malfoy’s small cabin appeared before them. The boxes under the front windows were bursting with bright pink and purple flowers and there was a small bird that Harry didn’t recognize perched happily next to them. 

“You’re a herbologist?” Harry had a sudden mental flash of Malfoy tooling around a greenhouse wearing fluffy ear muffs and a smudge of dirt on his cheek. It reminded him of second year, but this version was more interesting somehow. It didn’t quite fit the man Harry saw before him, but it didn’t feel too far off, either. 

“Not quite.” Malfoy opened the door and walked in before Harry, waving his wand a few times to light the Muggle lights. Harry had never seen anything like it, electric lights that ran on magic. It was interesting, and Harry wondered if Malfoy had designed the charms himself. “Longbottom is a herbologist. I do research.” _That_ , Harry thought, made much more sense, even if it seemed like splitting hairs.

“What do you research?” Harry found that he was genuinely curious to hear the answer. 

Malfoy turned to him and held up the bouquet in his hand. To Harry it looked like a random assortment of weeds and wilted flowers. “Muggle plants. I test them and experiment with them to see if any have previously undiscovered magical properties.”

“That’s why you’re living in a Muggle park?” The greenhouse behind the cabin suddenly made much more sense. 

“Very good, Potter.” Malfoy smiled and looked at Harry like he was trying to make an important decision. After a moment, he nodded slightly, before beckoning Harry to follow him. Harry didn’t bother to ask where they were going, but he had an idea. Or… a hope. 

They walked through the small cabin to the door that Harry had noticed the last time he’d been there. In the spring, it had been closed and Harry had assumed that it was a magically enlarged room of some sort. He’d thought of it once or twice since being there last, usually when he let his mind wander. Much like any trap door or hidden passage at Hogwarts, Harry found that he wanted to go through it.

Malfoy waved his wand and Harry heard a small _click_ as the lock opened for him. What was so special that he kept the room locked, Harry wondered. But he didn’t have to wonder for long as the door swung open before them. Harry shouldn’t have been surprised by what he saw, not after what Malfoy had just told him, but the greenhouse that spread out before him caught him off guard. 

Malfoy walked in and placed the raggedy bouquet on a work bench before turning to Harry. Harry hadn’t moved, he was still standing in the doorway. The greenhouse wasn’t large, not by any means, but it was bursting with color and life. Creeping and crawling plants had climbed up the walls and the ceiling, claiming them for their own. If not for a few glimpses of glass that Harry could just make out in between the vines, he would have sworn the plants were actually the walls. 

There were two tables in the center of the room. One was covered in various plants—some in pots, some in vases. And the other was a spotless assortment of tools, notes and potions equipment that Harry recognized from his time at Hogwarts. (He’d barely picked up a potions ingredient or tool since the end of the war. He left all of the brewing to Hermione.) Light filtered in between the branches, dappling the benches and casting the greenhouse in a soft, comfortable glow that warmed Malfoy’s pale cheeks and made him look ten years younger. Not physically, but somehow the light transformed him, making him something lighter and softer. 

Or maybe, it was the look of nervous anticipation in his pale grey eyes that made him seem younger. 

The look on Malfoy’s face took Harry by surprise. Harry found that he wanted to step closer to him, to look deeper into his eyes and maybe find flecks of silver or gold buried within in his gaze. It was a shocking and unnerving feeling that Harry didn’t know what to do with. It had been so long since he’d seen anyone. His last relationship had been with a dashing man named Fox. He was tall and strapping, the sort of man you’d seen on the cover of one of Mrs Weasley’s paperback romances. They’d gotten along well and things had been great for two years, until they weren’t. Harry didn’t really know _what_ had happened and, looking back, he couldn’t even pinpoint the moment things had started falling apart. But they had. Harry had ended up horribly heartbroken and he hadn’t dated since. He’d barely even looked at anyone, much to Hermione’s dismay, since. That had been three years ago. 

But now…

Something inside of Harry seemed to be waking up. It wasn’t quite ready to roll out of bed and brush its teeth yet, but it was stirring. 

At the sight of Draco Malfoy. 

It had been so long since they’d seen each other that Malfoy was a mystery to him. He was living as far from the Malfoy way as possible and he was passionate about his plants and his work with Neville. He seemed more relaxed and, not nice, but… Not the horrible kid that Harry remembered. Sure, he was still snarky and a bit stuck up, but Harry didn’t mind that too much.

As he stared at the sharp lines of Malfoy’s face and wondered just how soft his hair might be, Harry felt like running. _”I should just leave,”_ he thought, _“go back to Ron and ‘Mione’s and pretend like this never happened.”_ If his curiosity was piqued by Malfoy, then clearly he was ready to date again, right? It wasn’t that he was interested in _Malfoy_ , per se. It couldn’t be. He tried to think of what his Mind Healer would say, but her voice kept telling him that this was a good sign and that he should go with it, allow himself to feel whatever it was he was feeling. Good or bad.

Traitorous mental Mind Healer voice. 

Harry pressed his eyes shut and counted to five, trying to clear his thoughts. He took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, focusing on the feel of the air leaving his body. When he opened his eyes again, he found Malfoy staring at him intently. Malfoy was standing near enough that he could have reached out and touched Harry. 

Harry wished that he would.

He also wished that he wouldn’t.

When Malfoy spoke, Harry felt a twinge of disappointment. Apparently the part of him that was in favor of Malfoy touching him was stronger than the part that was against it. “Everything alright?” Malfoy acted like he didn’t really care about the answer, but Harry could see past his nonchalance. Malfoy _did_ care. He just _didn’t_ want Harry to know that he did.

Harry almost smiled at that.

“Fine, thanks. Just a bit…” Harry tried to come up with some sort of excuse as Malfoy looked at him with his shrewd grey eyes. “Light-headed. Whatever magic brought me here, you know?” 

Malfoy didn’t look convinced, but he nodded and didn’t say another word about it.

“So…” Harry said, looking around, “this is where you work?”

Malfoy perked up, obviously happy for the change of topic. “Yes, I spend most of my time in here. When I’m not out gathering specimens, that is.”

“Did you just find this cabin? I mean…” Harry didn’t really know what he meant, to be honest. Small talk had never really been his strong suit.

Malfoy smirked; it was more sarcasm than amusement. “Of course not, Potter. Devil’s Lake is a state run park. There used to be some cabins along the bluffs, but not anymore. There’s also a nature center, but it’s very musty and, unless you’re very interested in taxidermy, it's lacking. No, I decided to move myself in. Build my own cabin. Set up my own greenhouse and nature observatory. With some help, obviously.”

“Wait, so, no one knows you’re here?” Harry asked. Malfoy’s smirk turned into a deviant grin and that was answer enough. “The wards? Are they really that strong?”

“Let’s just say that the ice cream line at the pavilion is _never_ short.” Malfoy looked so proud of himself that all Harry could do was shake his head.

“Well then.” Harry just realized what Malfoy had said about the construction of his cabin. “Who did you get to help? I’m sure that even you couldn’t have charmed and hidden an entire construction team in the middle of the forest.”

“It was Longbottom and Lovegood. They are both surprisingly good with handiwork spells. It only took about a week between the three of us.”

Harry looked around with fresh eyes. The vine-covered walls of the greenhouse were a jewel-bright green, their leaves moving as if a small breeze was playing with them. The air was warm and humid and there were patches of sun here and there, highlighting different species of plants that Harry had never seen before. Stacked under the benches were rows of empty pots waiting to be filled and the scent of rich, damp soil filled the air. The table that wasn’t covered in plants had a neatly organized bin filled with Muggle and magical gardening tools and a small potion set that Snape would have been jealous of. Despite how neat everything was, it reminded Harry so much of the greenhouses at Hogwarts that he felt like he should be slipping a pair of protective earmuffs over his ears. 

“I don’t suspect you find many Mandrakes in Wisconsin,” Harry joked, stepping closer to Malfoy. He told himself that it was because he wanted to see more of the greenhouse.

“No,” Malfoy said and Harry could tell that he was trying to be very serious, “and if I did, I would probably shove them back in the ground. American attitude and all.”

It was a terrible joke and they both knew it, but they both managed to summon up a chuckle. For Harry, it felt like a much needed release of nervous energy and he wondered if it was the same for Malfoy.

The sounds of their laughter hung in the air between them, filled with the promise of _possibility_. Harry smiled and Malfoy did too. It was just so ridiculous that Harry couldn’t help but look away from Malfoy. His heart was thudding painfully in his chest and his palms were beginning to sweat. Harry couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that way.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. 

The last time he’d felt that way, Fox had leaned in to kiss him for the first time.

As the thought hit Harry like a Bludger to the skull, he locked eyes with Malfoy. Malfoy’s gaze was clear, like he knew exactly what he wanted. Harry was sure that if he were to look in a mirror, he’d find a set of frazzled and confused green eyeballs staring back at him. He knew, in that moment, what he wanted. But that was just spur of the moment hormones, the result of being single for too long. Right? But then again, maybe… just maybe… his inner turmoil was born of something more?

Harry felt like he could spend years trying to figure this one out. 

And he probably would.

This was Malfoy, after all. And Malfoy was… 

Harry didn’t even know where to begin. The man in front of him was _not_ the boy he’d known. The man in front of him was passionate and handsome. He was cautious, but also funny in a dry sort of way. It wasn’t enough to make Harry forget their past, but it was enough to make him realize that maybe Malfoy was _more_ than the past.

Harry could have thought about it further, standing there in the humid greenhouse, surrounded by plants and the smell of compost, Malfoy’s gaze locked on his. He could have cleared his throat. He could have taken a step closer. He could have blinked.

He couldn’t have predicted that Malfoy would learn forward, a look of stubborn determination on his face, and press his lips against Harry’s. 

The moment their lips touched, that skin brushed against skin and pieces started falling roughly into place, Harry felt his stomach begin to twist. He wished he could have said it was butterflies, that the thrill of this simple moment was causing his insides to jump about giddily, but it wasn’t. Painfully aware of what was coming, Harry tried to hold onto the moment, to memorize the feel of Malfoy’s lips against his, for as long as possible. He willed the seconds to stretch, but they refused and all too soon, Harry felt it.

A lurch and a pull and Harry felt himself yanked backwards, away from Malfoy. Away from soft lips. Away from their chance.

Across the world, Harry fell to the ground with a painful thud that left his knee aching and his hip throbbing. It was made worse when a weeping toddler threw herself on top of him before wrapping her arms too tightly around his neck. Rose sobbed into his shoulder and, if Harry had deciphered correctly, was apologizing for sending him away.

Thankfully, Ron pulled the little girl off of him before she had the chance to wipe her nose on Harry’s shoulder. When Harry was finally able to look up at his best friend, he found Ron’s face stark white. “I’m so sorry, mate. I think it’s time we take her to St Mungo’s.” Harry wanted to disagree, but his mind was spinning. What had just happened?

Had Malfoy really kissed him?

Harry’s lips still tingled, like they wanted to remind him of what Malfoy’s mouth felt like against his own.

But did he want to remember?

**OOOOOOOOOO**

The touch had been feather light and as Draco stood there, his lips still gently pursed and his eyes half-closed, he wondered if it had even happened, or if he’d tried to kiss a ghost instead. Harry was gone, he knew it. Harry was there one second, warm lips responsive (if surprised), and gone the next. He felt the sudden loss keenly.

Draco relaxed his mouth, but kept his eyes shut. He wanted to hold on to the moment, to believe that Potter was still standing before him, just a breath away. The moment he opened his eyes and saw nothing but plants staring back at him, it would become real. He would be, once again, alone. And he wanted to stave off that hopeless feeling for as long as possible, even if that was only a few more seconds.

Since Potter had appeared in spring, Malfoy had felt different. Lighter, almost. Before he’d shown up, life had been fine, he’d been content. But seeing those green eyes and messy hair had opened a small wound in Draco’s chest, one that had only gotten worse in the months that followed. It wasn’t Potter, he liked to tell himself. It was just seeing another man, no… another _wizard_. Because, Merlin’s beard, he wasn’t about to date a Muggle. He’d tried to put all of his parent’s biases behind him, but that one prejudice stubbornly remained. No Muggles. 

He’d tried going out to the local pub that catered to the magical community, but in Baraboo, Wisconsin, witches and wizards were few and far between and he didn’t have it in him to travel to Milwaukee, where wizarding nightlife abounded. He could have easily Apparated, or taken the Floo, but the thought of strangers rubbing up against him in a crowded, noisy club didn’t exactly excite him. He’d gone through that phase and happily left it behind. Now he wanted a glass of Firewhisky and someone to share a nice dinner with. 

It was getting harder and harder to stave off the fantasies of Potter sitting across from him at night, enjoying whatever Draco had cooked for them. (He didn’t know why, but he always imagined himself as doing all the cooking. Potter just looked like someone who would be a disaster in the kitchen.) No matter how hard he tried to imagine a different face across from him, Potter’s eyes kept coming back, clearer and greener each time.

And when Draco had seen him in the woods earlier, he’d known instantly… 

He’d been waiting for him to show up again ever since spring. 

It had seemed like fate giving him another chance, but the whole time Draco had felt so awkward, like he didn’t know what to say or how to act and he was _not_ used to feeling that way around Potter. The conversation had been lacking and Draco had practically held his breath as he’d led Potter into his greenhouse. His greenhouse was his sanctuary and he rarely let anyone in, Longbottom and Luna being the sole exceptions. 

When he’d seen Potter standing amongst the plants, taking everything in like it really meant something, Draco hadn’t been able to stop himself. His heart had acted before his mind had had a chance to stop him and the next thing he knew, he was leaning forward and Potter’s lips were warm against his in a feather light touch that felt too good to be real. 

Taking a deep breath, Draco gave in and opened his eyes. He’d known what he would find, an open space where Potter had just been, but his heart still sank anyway. He didn’t know why, he’d known that Potter had disappeared the second the pressure of his lips vanished. He didn’t know how, but he figured that it had to do with the Granger’s child because he hadn’t heard the tell-tale _pop_ of Apparition and that was the _only_ thing that kept Draco from taking it personally. If it was the magic that had pulled Potter back, that was one thing. If Potter had purposely disappeared, that was another thing altogether. 

One thing he could handle, the other would take much longer to deal with. 

Draco sighed and looked around his sanctuary. The plants swayed and he almost felt like they were trying to cheer him up. The thought made Draco laugh at himself. Shaking his head, he decided to put it behind him for today. Oh, he knew that his mind would travel back to that ghost of a kiss more times than he’d really like, but something told him that Potter would be back because — and this was the part that was most important to Draco — Potter hadn’t pulled away from the kiss.

 

**Fall**

Draco sat in his worn armchair, a tumbler of Firewhisky in one hand, a worn paperback in the other. It was the first in a Muggle series about magic gone awry in Atlanta. Normally, he eschewed anything Muggle, but Luna had insisted and who was he to deny her after everything she’d done for him? And even though he would never admit it out loud, he quite enjoyed the tales of men turning into beasts and people casting the most ridiculous of spells. It amused him to think that that was how Muggles pictured a magical world. If only they knew the truth.

He flipped the page, but looked out the window before he started reading it. The trees were a riot of red, gold and orange. To Draco, fall was a magic all its own. Even as a small boy, he’d loved fall best. The weather, the special foods that the Manor staff prepared, Quidditch, even the first day back to Hogwarts always thrilled him with the promise of scarves and the Halloween feast. 

Feeling content, Draco turned back to his book. He loved all of the action and magic, but his favorite bits always featured the tension between the beastly man and his chosen. They were just so fiery together that Draco couldn’t help smiling wickedly to himself. He’d known that tension and animosity long ago. It hadn’t been riddled with desire and longing, but the tension had crackled and filled him with fire just the same. 

Seeing Potter hadn’t filled him with the same intense mix of rivalry and competition that it had years ago, but Draco was okay with that because now seeing Potter, even just thinking of him, filled Draco with something better. Now, when Draco thought of him, he was filled with a slow burning fire that warmed him all the way to his soul. And he wanted more. 

He’d thought of going after Potter. Just once. After all, how hard could it be to find Harry Potter in the wizarding world? But the second he thought of it, he washed his mind of it. Not only would it mean going back to the UK for the first time in over ten years, but it also meant that he would be chasing Potter. And he didn’t want that. He wanted Potter to pop up on his doorstep unannounced, whether on purpose or because some toddler’s magic had backfired, he didn’t care. He just wanted the surprise of opening his door, or walking into the woods and finding Potter there, staring back at him.

For now, that was all he needed. 

They could figure out the rest later.

If there was a later, that is.

Draco flipped the page again, smiling to himself as the beast lord claimed what he wanted and the sun dipped low behind the bluffs.

**OOOOOOOOOO**

“Harry, you’re _not_ honestly thinking of going back again, are you?” Harry would have preferred to have this conversation with _only_ his Mind Healer, but after Hermione had pulled him back to Weasley Place over the summer, she’d been pestering him relentlessly. She kept saying that he seemed different, that he seemed like his mind was somewhere else. She’d tried setting him up on a blind date. (It was a disaster. Don’t ask.) She’d tried taking him out for tea at his favorite patisserie. (This also ended in disaster once Harry found out that she was only trying to get information out of him.) He knew that she was only trying to help and that she had his best interest at heart and he loved her for that. He just wished that she’d give him a little time to process what he was feeling.

After he’d finally talked it over with his Mind Healer, Harry had given in and told her what had happened. The way he’d felt when he’d been in the greenhouse with Malfoy. The kiss that was barely a kiss. How he had wanted to go back and find out what he’d missed. 

But Hermione, the newest addition to the Weasley clan asleep in her arms, whispered that he must be daft if he wanted anything from Malfoy. For the most part, Hermione had managed to put the past behind her, but like all of them, there were some things that she just couldn’t get over. Harry didn’t blame her. She had every right to dislike Malfoy. He’d treated her horribly all through school and Harry didn’t begrudge her her feelings. And if not for the time he’d spent with Malfoy, Harry would have felt the same. But Harry _had_ spent time with him and because of that, he couldn’t put his feelings on hold.

Well, he had thought about it, of just forgetting about Malfoy for Hermione and Ron’s sake, though he knew they were never demand something like that from him, but his Mind Healer pointed out that that was unfair to himself and that he deserved to find his own happiness. Harry suspected she wanted to say that if they really cared about him, they’d want him to be happy. He’d had a hard time agreeing with her, but as Hermione looked at him, he felt the truth of it. He would never really know how he felt, or what Malfoy might mean to him, until he found out for himself.

“I think… I think that I am.” Harry scratched at the back of his head in confusion. He was only just now deciding that yes, he was going to go back to Devil’s Lake and Malfoy’s small cabin in the woods.

“We talked about this.” The baby in her arms stirred and Hermione lowered her voice again. “You said you wanted to start seeing someone new.”

“No, _you_ talked about this.” Harry felt his cheeks heating up. He didn’t want to fight with her, he didn’t even want to be having this conversation with her, but now that they were, he couldn’t back down. “And yes, I want to see someone again. But… I think that…”

“Don’t say it, Harry.” Hermione closed her eyes like she couldn’t bear the thought of what he might say. “After everything the Malfoy’s put us through…”

“He’s not the same.” To what extent, Harry didn’t know, but he knew in his heart that Draco Malfoy was _definitely_ not the same kid who taunted him in the hallways or who made the “Potter Stinks” badges in fourth year. That didn’t mean that all of his past misdeeds were forgiven, but it did mean that Harry was open to learning about the man he’d become. 

“How could you possibly know that?” She didn’t sound angry, just confused and exasperated. Underneath it though, there was a flicker of something else that Harry thought might be genuine curiosity, like she really did want to know why Harry was so drawn to Malfoy all of a sudden. That was the only reason Harry chose to answer her.

“I don’t know.” And he didn’t. Harry hadn’t actually spent that much time with Malfoy, but still, he believed it. “I just… He feels different.”

“Oh, Harry.” Hermione sighed. It was easy for her, she hadn’t seen Malfoy. In fact, she probably hadn’t thought about him since the end of trials. Just like he hadn’t.

“Thank you for trying.” Harry stood up from the kitchen table and placed his teacup in the sink. He should wash it, but he was too agitated. He just wanted to get outside and take a breath of fresh air. “I need to get going.”

“Harry,” she pleaded. “I didn’t mean…I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I know,” Harry said. And he did. He understood and he didn’t blame her for having reservations; they were definitely fair. But he was confused enough as it was and he was really hoping that she’d just listen and be there for him, just like when they’d team up to solve a mystery back in school. The only problem now was that the library couldn’t help with this. 

Harry gave her a light hug and kissed her on the cheek, letting her know that they were okay before turning and walking out the door.

Rather than Apparate home straight away, Harry decided to go for a walk. Not to anywhere in particular, just down the street to give himself time to think. Because even though he hated to admit it, Hermione had made him think.

 _Was_ Malfoy really different?

**OOOOOOOOOO**

“Draco.” Luna hooked her arm through Draco’s as she stepped barefoot over a fallen branch. Her voice was as sweet and dreamy as ever and it was like music to his ears. “Give him time, he’ll come around.” She looked up him, her eyes wide and happy and Draco felt his insides relax. Luna, even when she’d been captive in the Manor’s basement, had always been a calming presence. And the second she’d shown up at his door, she’d known that something was different. It hadn’t taken more than a knowing smile to get Draco to tell her what was going on. “I’m so happy for you.”

Draco rolled his eyes, ever so slightly. “There’s nothing to be happy about yet. We haven’t actually—”

“But _you_ have,” she countered. “You’ve opened yourself up to someone. It’s been so long.” That it had. He and Neville had tried something years ago. It had been two weeks of steamy embraces in the greenhouse before they’d decided they were better off friends. It had been a quick and easy decision and their friendship had remained as ever. “And the fact that it’s Harry! Oh, Draco.” She squeezed his arm and Draco smiled.

“Try not to get too excited,” he scolded both Luna and himself, “I haven’t seen him since summer, remember.” How could he possibly forget? Every day he’d wake up and remind himself not to get his hopes up because what if he never showed up again? What if that was the very last time he’d ever see Harry Potter? 

What if their feather light kiss was the only one they’d ever share?

Draco tried not to think of it, because whenever he did, his chest would tighten up painfully and wouldn’t relax until he promised himself that he’d see Potter again, no matter what. Because of that, he’d started his morning routine of quelling his own excitement. It was easier that way.

“Yes, you’ve said that.” Luna patted his hand indulgently, but Draco noticed that her gaze was somewhere off in the distance. “Have you happened upon about any Nargle swarms yet? They’re drawn to popular attractions such as beaches and pubs.”

With that, Luna was off in her own world, Draco’s love life forgotten, and he was a bit disappointed about it. She was the first person he’d talked to about his feelings regarding Potter. In fact, he hadn’t even told Neville that Potter had been at the cabin and, as far as Draco knew, they still kept in contact some. He’d hoped that maybe she could help him sort through his feelings a bit. He knew that it would be difficult to decipher her riddles, but he always felt so much better after talking to Luna. Usually, anyway. Now he felt empty, like a child who didn’t receive their favorite toy on Christmas morning. 

As Luna babbled on about Nargles and womplebaughts, which were apparently native to Wisconsin, Draco let his thoughts wander. Her voice was calm and sweet and made for a perfect background to his thoughts.

**OOOOOOOOOO**

“Harry, mate, you know I have to side with Hermione on this one.” Ron wrinkled his nose and waved his wand at the pot on the stove. He was a great husband, working at the shop, picking up around the house and taking care of the kids as much as possible during Hermione’s pregnancy. But as the pot hissed and rattled ominously, Harry thought, not for the first time, that he should leave the cooking to Hermione. That, or take Molly up on her offer of sending over prepared meals that would just need a good heating charm.

“Because you’re married to her or because he’s Malfoy?” Harry snagged a piece of garlic bread and leaned against the counter next to Ron, wondering how difficult it really was to boil noodles. As he asked it, Ron flicked his wand offhandedly and a broom and dustpan sprung to life behind them. Harry smiled. Ron may not have mastered the art of cooking, but he had picked up a lot of his mum’s favorite household spells over the years. 

“Both?” Ron said. “And because I _know_ Malfoy. I don’t know, mate. It’s weird. He’s… He’s Malfoy.” Harry resisted the urge to tell Ron that he did, indeed, understand that Malfoy was _Malfoy_. “I know you’ve been alone a long time. Are you sure you don’t feel this way because he’s the first bloke to—”

“I’ve had _plenty_ of offers since Fox, Ron.” Harry tried not to be offended, but it bothered him that Ron thought his feelings were born out of desperation rather than genuine emotion. 

Preoccupied with the state of their dinner, Ron didn’t seem to realize his mistake, or pick up on the sarcasm in Harry’s voice. Instead, he lifted the lid of the pot letting out another bellow of steam. Again, Harry wondered how hard it was to cook noodles, but this time he also wondered if it was at all possible to burn them. Because if it was, he was pretty sure that spaghetti dinner was headed that way. 

“Oh, the blind date?” He poked at the contents of the pot with his wand and a clump of noodles lifted out of the boiling water. They looked sad and gummy, like a giant blob of what should have been pasta. “Does this look right to you?” he asked offhandedly. Harry didn’t bother responding to either question. “Look, I know you’ve tried a few times since your breakup and I’ve always got someone asking about you at work, okay?”

“You have?” Harry stood up a little straighter, wondering why Ron had never mentioned this to him.

“I have standards for my best mate, alright?” Ron tapped his wand on the pot and the noodles dropped back into the water with a splash that caused the stove top to hiss. “None of the gits I work with pass inspection.”

“Thanks for that, but I’d like to decide for myself, ok?" Harry wouldn’t admit it, but Ron _had_ been right about Fox. The first time Ron had met him, he’d said that he was no good. If Harry had listened, he might have saved himself a lot of heartbreak. Taking a deep breath, Harry bit off a chunk of the garlic bread and began to chew. 

“Look, if Malfoy is what you want,” Ron paused, like he was about to say something that pained him, “I’ll trust you. And Hermione will too. It’s just going to take some time. Okay?” 

Harry nodded; it was the only thing he could do. That was all he needed to hear and it meant the world to him. 

Ron let the pot lid drop with a clang before announcing, “That’s it. I’m ordering takeaway.”

**OOOOOOOOOO**

“The trees are almost bare,” Neville’s voice was a warm blanket in the late October chill. Draco and Neville sat in the small clearing in front of the small cabin in chairs that Draco had drawn up just for the occasion. They were overly plush with heated seats that enveloped them in warmth as they sank into them. That, however, did not stop the tips of Draco’s nose and ears from being cold. Draco didn’t really mind, he sort of enjoyed the chill biting at his skin. It made him feel alive and flush with possibility. Oh, he would regret it soon enough, but for now, it felt wonderful. Neville, on the other hand, was as bundled up as possible. “It’ll be winter soon and you’ll be stuck inside until spring.”

Draco flicked his wand and two mugs of spiced cider came zooming their way, complete with a cinnamon stick and two freshly baked biscuits each. Draco plucked his out of the air without spilling a drop, and before Neville’s reached him, Draco charmed the cup and saucer to slow down. Draco had learned quickly that if something could be spilled, Neville would find a way. 

Neville waited patiently for the mug to come to a full stop before reaching out and taking it. He bent over and inhaled deeply, sighing contentedly. “Brilliant.” 

Draco smiled and took a sip from his mug. It was absolutely perfect from temperature to taste. His home brewed tea might need some work, but his hot cider was nothing short of magical. “I may not enjoy the cold, but I certainly won’t be staying inside all winter.”

“Of course not,” Neville said indulgently. They both knew that while Draco might venture out into the snow a few times, he would spend most of the winter indoors either working away in his greenhouse at samples he’d stored up over the year, or sitting in front of his fireplace working on notes for the book he was hoping to publish on American magical plants that were specific to the Midwest. Not many books had been written on the subject and it had become a dream of Draco’s to see his name in print at Flourish and Blott’s. That, he had decided, would be one of the few things capable of drawing him back to the UK. 

Draco didn’t reply. How could he? He knew that Neville was right. 

They both sipped at their drinks as the fire crackled merrily before them. Draco was content to enjoy the comfortable silence, but he could feel Neville shifting next to him. He hoped that Neville would keep whatever was bothering him to himself for a long as possible. Unfortunately, that wasn’t very long. 

“I heard from Luna recently.” Neville tried to sound casual and nonchalant. He failed at both. Spectacularly.

Draco rolled his eyes. He’d known it was coming and had been waiting since Neville arrived. That didn’t mean that he was excited about it. Talking with Luna about possible romantic feelings was one thing. Talking with Neville about them was another. “Oh?” He wasn’t about to make this easy for Neville. If Draco had to suffer, then so did Neville.

Neville hastily sipped from his mug and managed to spill some of the cider on his coat. Before it could soak into the wool, Draco waved his wand and evaporated it. “Thank you,” Neville mumbled. He may have reconciled himself to the fact that he was clumsy, but that didn’t make him any less embarrassed about it.

Draco simply nodded. He may have enjoyed making Neville squirm over the Harry issue, but he’d stopped being a bully a long time ago. He didn’t want to make Neville feel more self-conscious than he already did, so he gave in and asked, “What did Luna have to say?”

“Oh, you know Luna,” Neville said. Draco laughed softly to himself; he knew exactly what Neville meant. “She’s been traveling. There’s been a Snorkack sighting in Shanghai. Her father is still working on the _Quibbler_ , but is looking for someone to take over. He’s getting on, you know.” Draco did. In fact, these were all things he’d heard from Luna when she’d visited with him a week ago. “She also mentioned that you’ve had a visitor…” There it was. “One that you seem to be quite keen on.” Neville looked over his mug at Draco and waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

That was it. Draco’s goodwill had officially run out and he didn’t bother trying to stop himself from rolling his eyes as dramatically as possible, which only made Neville laugh. 

“It’s good,” Neville said earnestly. “I’m happy to hear it.” 

Draco had expected nothing less, but it still warmed his insides to hear it. “Nothing has happened.” And it hadn’t, not really. He’d decided that their barely there kiss was exactly that—barely there. It was the ghost of a kiss that had become a wonderful memory that made him eager for the real thing. 

“Oh, that’s not true,” Neville said. Draco raised his pale eyebrows in question. “You feel something, Draco. That’s a huge step.”

Draco didn’t respond, he just considered what Neville had said. He felt something. That had been the problem with their “relationship.” Neville had accused him of never feeling and in retrospect that was true. His dalliance with Neville had been more about physical need than anything else. It hadn’t been fair to his friend. 

After that, it had taken him Draco a long time to get past seeking out men for nothing more than a quick shag, but he’d gotten there eventually. And… He hadn’t seen anyone or felt like seeing anyone since. 

Until now.

“When did you last see him?” Neville plucked one of the biscuits from the edge of the saucer and took a bite. “Delicious, as always,” he said, wiping a stray crumb from the corner of his mouth. “Apple and oatmeal?”

“Caramel apple oatmeal, actually,” Draco said offhand. “July, to answer your question. I haven’t seen him since summer.” 

“Don’t worry,” Neville said after taking another bite. “You’ll see him soon.”

Day after day Draco waited for Potter to show up again. The leaves turned and fell, the weather turned bitterly cold and Devil’s Lake closed for the season. And Potter never showed. 

 

**Winter**

“I really think that you made the right decision, Harry.” Hermione patted Harry on the arm, a pleased expression on her face. Harry tried to smile and he did, a bit, but it didn’t feel quite right on his face. 

He’d had every intention of going to Malfoy’s cabin in the fall, but the look of disappointment on Hermione’s face right before he went to Apparate there had stopped him. All of his resolve to do what felt right for _himself_ slipped away. Hermione had smiled and all he’d been able to do was look at Rose and wonder why. Why couldn’t she have had one of her magical outbursts at that moment?

When he’d told his Mind Healer, she hadn’t been happy with him.

Harry didn’t say anything. How could he when his stomach clenched with regret that he hadn’t made a different decision? Hermione and Ron didn’t bring it up often, but whenever they did, Harry felt his insides twist and tense. Sometimes it took his breath away. Sometimes it made his insides ache for hours. It was the pain and disappointment of missed opportunity and wasted possibility. 

“There you are,” Harry was pulled from his thoughts by a soft touch on his arm. The blond that Hermione had invited as his date smiled at him softly, leaving his hand on Harry’s arm a little too long. The touch was tentative, a question, and Harry didn’t know how to respond. 

After their last conversation about Malfoy, Hermione had been so wracked with guilt at knowing that she could have handled their last conversation better that she’d gone out of her way to try and make him happy. Sensing that he was interested in seeing someone, Hermione had set him up with a handsome friend of hers who worked at Flourish and Blott’s. Harry loved her for trying so hard and went on the date without complaint. 

They’d gone out on Halloween. It had been a decent evening, but neither had felt anything and neither had felt compelled to call the next day. After that, Ron had tried his hand with someone who frequented the shop. That date had been a disaster than had landed Harry in St Mungo’s. Harry had refused their _help_ after that.

Until Hermione had decided that she and Ron should throw a Christmas Eve party, that is. 

For that, she’d insisted that Harry have a date, saying that everyone would be partnered up and that she didn’t want him to feel left out given how lonely he’d seemed lately. After all, what’s more romantic than a forced kiss under the mistletoe with someone you just met thirty-four minutes ago and can’t even remember the name of? (The answer to that, in Harry’s opinion, was pretty much anything. After his kiss under the mistletoe with Cho Chang, his feelings on it had completely changed. And not for the better. )

Harry had given in, wondering if maybe Hermione was right and that he was just lonely. But the more time he spent with the blond, the more Harry thought of what he’d given up.

Now he stood in Hermione and Ron’s living room, an untouched flute of champagne in hand. He had to give Hermione credit. She’d manage to transform their small living room into a winter wonderland. There were garlands of pine branches studded with cranberries and topped with sparkling snow all around the windows and across the mantle. And she’d managed to charm a warm, dry snow to fall from the ceiling. The guests would laugh and congratulate her charm work as they brushed little piles of snow off each other’s shoulders. Even the glass of champagne had a charmed layer of frost around it that was warm to the touch, but kept the drinks cool. Every once in a while one of the snowflakes would fall lazily into his glass, melting into a glittering snowflake pattern on the top of the champagne. It reminded him of the paper snowflake garlands he’d had to cut out in primary school. It really was beautiful, but it was all wasted on Harry.

His date smiled at him tentatively and Harry raised his glass in cheers before turning away. The man, whatever his name was, was handsome. And blond. So blond that Harry couldn’t help but wonder about the coincidence. When he’d cornered Hermione and asked her, she hadn’t bother denying it. In fact, she’d smiled and said happily, “I thought you might like it. I mean, Malfoy is blond.” It was clear that she meant well, that she thought he was attracted to blond men now. She didn’t mean for it to hurt him, but it did. 

All it did was remind him of what he’d passed up and that only upset him more. 

Harry felt bad; the man seemed nice enough, but Harry couldn’t stand looking at him. It wasn’t that Harry didn’t like him. It was that looking at him, with his white-blond hair, made Harry angry at himself for not being able to go after what he wanted and needed in life. 

“Would you like to dance?” Harry’s date gestured tentatively at the dance floor where a few couples were smiling at each other as they swayed back and forth to the latest from the Weird Sisters. It was a softly romantic song, the kind that Harry would have tried dancing to, if asked by right person. This stranger just wasn’t him.

“I’m sorry; would you give me a minute?” Harry tried to smile as his date’s face fell, but he knew his face looked pinched. “I won’t be a mo…” He didn’t wait for an answer before heading towards the kitchen, excusing himself as he clumsily made his way through the dancing couples. 

Once inside the kitchen, Harry took a deep breath. It should have made him feel better, but it didn’t. He placed his drink on the counter and ran his hand through his hair, making it even messier than normal. 

“Hi, Uncle Harry,” a tiny voice came from the other side of the counter, making Harry jump like he’d just been caught with his hand in the biscuit tin. 

“Rosey, hullo,” he tried to sound calm, but failed. “What are you doing in here?”

“Mum said I had to go to bed, but I wanted to see the party.” She walked around the counter, looking sheepish. Her hair was a mess and she was dressed in a plaid nightie that fell to her ankles. “I told her I’m a big girl, but she said no.” Rose pursed her lips together, making her angry face.

“You are definitely a big girl,” Harry said, making her beam. They were clearly co-conspirators now. 

“That’s what I said,” she sighed, like the weight of the world was on her little shoulders. “Why do you look so sad?”

“I…” Once again Harry felt like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t have. “I’m not.”

Rose narrowed her eyes, like she was giving him a thorough examination and didn’t believe a word out of his mouth. (About being lonely, anyway. She totally believed him about being a big girl.) “Yeah huh.”

“Rose—”

“Is it because you don’t have a boyfriend?”

“Because I…” Harry’s eyebrows rose so high they almost disappeared into his hair.

“I heard mum talking about it. She says you need a boyfriend. So does dad. They said they're worried about you, but I’m not. I know you’re not lonely. You have me!” For just one moment, Harry thought of asking her what else Hermione and Ron had said about him, but he changed his mind in favor of asking…

“Do you want to help me out?” The knot that formed in Harry’s stomach relaxed just enough that he felt like he could take a proper breath for the first time in weeks.

In response, Rose’s eyes narrowed in fiendish glee.

Five minutes later, Harry was holding her in his arms and excusing his way through the party. Rose’s head was resting on his shoulder and though she looked like she was fast asleep, Harry could hear her giggle softly in his ear. He gave his niece a little squeeze, hoping she’d take it as a sign to calm down. 

Thankfully, she did.

He was just at the bottom of the staircase when Hermione appeared out of nowhere. “Harry! Rose! What is she doing down here? She’s supposed to be in bed.”

Harry smiled indulgently and shrugged. “Kids, you know? Never do what they’re told. And it’s Christmas Eve. She snuck down to see what all the fuss was about.” He hoped that Hermione wouldn’t ask how, or why she’d fallen asleep so quickly in his arms because he didn’t have an answer for that and he didn’t think he could come up with one quickly enough to convince her.

Hermione looked from Harry to her sleeping daughter and back to Harry again and, for a second, he was convinced that she knew he was lying. “Poor thing, maybe I should have let her come down for a bit.”

Harry tensed, hoping Rose wouldn’t take that as a sign to spring awake and proclaim her Big Girl status. He held his breath in anticipation until Hermione leaned forward to give them each a kiss on the cheek, before asking Harry if he wouldn’t mind taking her up to bed. 

He tried to breathe normally as he told her it was his honor before turning and making his way up the steps with Rose in his arms. She stayed still and quiet all the way to her room and Harry made a mental note to get her another Christmas gift. Something special. 

The second the door closed behind them, Rose jumped down from his arms and bounced on her feet, clapping. Harry was just about to tell her to stay quiet when he realized that the revelers wouldn’t be able to hear her over the music anyway, so he let her celebrate. “We did it! We did it!”

Harry knelt before her and held her shoulders. (Okay, maybe he was a _little_ worried about her being heard.) “Yes, we did. And it was all because of you.” Maybe it was true. Maybe it wasn’t. Either way, she’d been the perfect excuse for him to escape the party.

“Because I’m a big girl,” she proclaimed sagely.

“Because you’re a big girl.” Harry laughed a little, feeling lighter by the minute. “Now it’s time for me to—”

“Not be sad,” she said with a nod.

“Exactly. It’s time for me to not be sad.” Harry smiled. “Now into bed!” Rose started a pout, but Harry cut her off. “We made a deal, remember? You help me escape and then straight to bed.” She looked dubious, so he added, “Santa loves big girls who meet their bedtime.” 

That did it; there was no arguing where Santa was concerned. Rose nodded solemnly before giving Harry a hug. “Good luck, Uncle Harry,” she said before yawning widely. She climbed into bed and Harry tucked her favorite purple blanket around her. “Want me to help?” Rose held out her little hand and waggled her fingers invitingly. Harry stepped forward and before he could second guess himself, he reached out and touched her hand.

**OOOOOOOOOO**

Draco took a step back and considered the small Christmas tree in his living room. It paled in comparison to the tree that always filled up the sitting room of the Manor, but it was his. He’d grown it. Moved it into his living room. Charmed the fairy lights and even decorated it himself. After Christmas he would replant it. It was, in his opinion, perfect. He smiled, adjusting a little ornament of a fluttering Snitch. Neville had found it in a shop years ago and Draco loved it dearly. He just wished that it would stop trying to fly to a higher branch.

He tried to turn it once again, but gave up as it stubbornly beat its wings. He’d been going through this for years and didn’t know why he still bothered. It was always a losing battle. Giving up, Draco crouched down and arranged the modest assortment of gifts beneath the tree. There was one for Neville and one for Luna. There was a large package wrapped in silver from his mum. (Nothing from, or for, his father. That was a relationship that neither of them cared to repair. Ever.) There was even a small package in bright red sparkling paper from Pansy. But that was it. He’d been tempted, more than once, to buy Potter a little gift to put under the tree. But every time he picked something out, he remembered the disappointment he’d felt when Harry hadn’t shown up during the fall. 

Draco felt good about himself for not having bought Potter a gift. If he had and Potter didn’t show up, it would hurt far more than he was willing to admit. After all, what was the old saying? Distance makes me the heart grow fonder? Draco didn’t really know how true that was, but for him, the time and distance had made his crush so much worse. Luna had promised not to say anything to Harry, but that hadn’t stopped her from trying to set him up with one of her friends. He’d refused without thought, not because of the way Luna described him, but because he wasn’t Potter and Draco just wasn’t interested in anyone else. The crush hurt, but he was happy to nurse it for the time being because the pain was better than feeling nothing at all. 

But still, he couldn’t help but wish there was a present for Potter under the tree and maybe one from him as well. Maybe next year, he told himself before standing back up and turning around.

It took all of Draco’s will power and stubbornness not to yell or strike out with his wand when he found himself face to face with Potter. As it was, he jumped and huffed in shock. (He would later claim that he did no such thing.) 

Potter stood in the middle of his living room, looking disheveled and distinctly nervous. The left side of his mouth was twitching like he wanted to smile, but the right refused to move. Draco understood exactly how that felt. His stomach was flipping back and forth between excitement, relief and annoyance. 

It was Potter who broke the silence with a small, “hey.”

Draco felt very much like giving him a swift kick in the shin as he considered the past few months. He wanted to demand an explanation for why Potter hadn’t shown up again since their kiss. He wanted to know if their kiss had been real. He wanted to know if there was any way Harry had been thinking about him. But he said none of those things.

Draco’s heart was racing from the scare Potter had just given him. He wanted to reach out and smooth down Harry’s unruly hair even though he knew it would be pointless. With all of those urges swirling around inside of him, Draco’s gut reaction was to punish Potter a little bit first. 

He chose to ignore his instincts and said, “It’s been a long time.”

He hadn’t expected much of a reaction from Potter, so when Harry’s brilliant green eyes fell sheepishly to the floor, Draco felt the tips of his ears burn in embarrassment. He wanted to say something, but Harry beat him to it. “I know. I’m sorry.” Draco resisted the urge to tell him that it was okay, that he hadn’t really expected him to show up. “I wanted to come…”

That did it. “They why didn’t you?” Draco forced himself to take a deep breath in and let it out. He refused to wait with baited breath.

“I felt like I couldn’t.” Harry lifted his head, but he didn’t look at Draco. Instead, he looked towards the ceiling like the answers to all of life’s questions were hidden there. “I was coming, but Hermione…”

Harry kept talking, explaining why he didn’t come sooner, but Draco didn’t hear it. His ears had begun to ring as he imagined the perfect Hermione Granger poisoning Harry against him, telling him to stay away from the horrible Draco Malfoy. Draco gritted his teeth. He’d left the wizarding world to get away from things like this, old prejudices, whispering and pointing, abuse on the streets, but it had still found him and had managed to poison the one thing that had _really_ mattered to him in ages. 

Harry huffed. “Anyway, I couldn’t take it anymore.” Potter gripped Draco’s elbow and when he had stepped close enough to do so, Draco didn’t know. He’d been too lost in his thoughts to hear Potter’s explanation. His sharp gaze fell to Potter’s hand on his elbow, taking in the way his fingers curled gently around his arm. “I can leave…” Potter pressed his lips together so tightly they turned white and Draco was drawn to them. “If you want.”

Draco didn’t think, didn’t hesitate, before whispering a single word. “No.” It was only two letters, barely anything, but those two letters felt like the most powerful spell that Draco had ever used in his life because the relief in Potter’s eyes felt like nothing short of a miracle to Draco. 

“I—” Potter pressed his lips together again, but not so tightly this time. “I couldn’t stop thinking about…”

It was Draco’s turn to purse his lips. He felt the skin slide together and remembered the ghost kiss they’d shared. The one he’d come to believe wasn’t even real. “Did it really happen?” He heard himself say and blushed at the stupidity of it. Of course it had. Draco had leaned forward and pressed his mouth against Potter’s, no matter how fleeting the moment. It had happened and they both remembered it.

The corners of Potter’s mouth twitched slightly as he said, “Yeah. I think so.”

Draco took a deep breath that seemed to go all the way to his toes, filling him with the scent of pine and what could only be a mixture of Potter’s soap and cologne. Draco couldn’t say that he really liked the scent of the cologne, but just knowing that it was on Potter made Draco smile. 

Potter was there.

No, _Harry_ was there.

Part of Draco was still screaming at him to demand an explanation, to make Harry squirm a bit. It also told him that he was making this too easy, just melting at the sight and smell of Harry. But Draco ignored that part. He’d listened to it far too much during his life. Now he just wanted to be happy and to feel something. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said, and as the words came out, that voice inside of him quieted down a little. It was still there, but it wasn’t winning. 

“I’m glad you didn’t throw me out,” Harry said and laughed a bit, making Draco wonder what Harry had been expecting. “To be honest, this sort of just… happened. You have Rose to thank, actually.”

Draco’s face twisted with confusion. “The little girl? The one with the magical outbursts?”

Harry nodded. “She helped me escape a party tonight.”

“Did she send you here again?” Draco tensed. If Harry hadn’t come because he wanted to, that changed things. Draco didn’t want him there because of a child’s magical outburst. He wanted Harry to be there because _he wanted_ to be there. “Is that why you’re here?” He felt his eyes narrow.

“No,” Harry said vehemently, taking another step closer. “No.” Draco wanted to believe him, but he still felt tense. “Rose’s magical outbursts turned out to be a rare medical issue. She’s being treated. She just helped me slip out of a party so that I could Apparate here.”

Draco felt himself relax, but just a little. “So you’re here?”

“Yeah,” Harry smiled. “I’m really here this time.” He looked down at his hand on Draco’s elbow before looking up, shyly. “I want to be here.”

Draco wanted to tell Harry that he wanted him there, too. But he couldn’t make the words come out; they felt too raw, too intense of a confession even though Harry had just said the same. So, instead, he heard himself say, “I didn’t get you anything for Christmas.”

At that, Harry laughed and Draco felt the room lighten. He hadn’t realized until then that the entire cabin seemed to be holding its breath for him. “It’s okay; I didn’t bring you anything, either.”

Draco chuckled softly. “I’m glad you’re here. I was hoping you’d come.” This time, the truth came more easily than riding a broom and the brilliant smile on Harry’s handsome face was gift enough. 

“Yeah?” Harry looked pleased, but slightly unsure of himself and Draco stepped closer to him.

“Yes,” Draco whispered as he tentatively mirrored Harry and placed his hand on Harry’s elbow. The touch wasn’t nearly enough, but it was a start. And it was real. Realer than the ghost kiss they’d barely shared all those months ago.

“I thought maybe, since I didn’t—”

“Oh, shut up,” Draco heard himself say before pressing his lips questioningly against Harry’s. It was barely there, a reminder of the touch they’d shared once before. It was a question he’d been waiting for an answer to since summer.

Draco pulled away just enough to take a breath, waiting for Harry to respond. Harry didn’t speak, or lean in again, and when Draco thought he could no longer stand the anticipation, when he was just about to pull away, Harry slid his arms around Draco’s waist. He leaned forward and whispered against Draco’s mouth, “I’m not disappearing this time.”

When Harry pulled him close, Draco didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around Harry’s neck. He wanted to hold on tight, to make sure that he didn’t get pulled away again, but Draco knew that he wouldn’t. He knew that Harry was there because he chose to be, so he let himself relax and enjoy the feel of Harry’s body pressed gently against his own. He relished the tickle of the little hairs at Harry’s neck and the warmth of Harry’s breath against his cheek. It was so much better than any of the daydreams Draco had managed to come up with over the past few months. 

The kiss was gentle, the soft explorations of two people wondering if what they were doing was okay and finding out that it was. It really, really was. Lips pressed together and pulled away, finding cheeks, eyelids and noses. They giggled softly and sighed gently whenever the right spot was found. And somewhere along the way, they’d made it to Draco’s little couch. 

Curled together in the middle of the sofa, Draco managed to untangle his arm long enough to Summon two mugs of hot chocolate complete with frothing marshmallow on top. When the mugs came zooming in from the kitchen, Harry laughed and shook his head. “What?” Draco asked. “It _is_ Christmas Eve.” He plucked his mug from the air and took a small sip. The temperature, as always, was perfect. As was the ratio of chocolate to peppermint and marshmallow. His tea may still have needed work, but much like the cider, his hot chocolate was nothing short of perfection.

Harry laughed again, but took his own mug, sipping gingerly. As he swallowed, he eyed the mug appreciatively before taking another drink. “This is so much better than your tea.” Draco spluttered and Harry smiled at him, a small marshmallow mustache on his lip. “So much better.”

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood.” Draco thought of kissing the bits of fluff from Harry’s lips, but instead he wiped them away with his thumb. “Only _I_ get to insult my horribly bitter tea.”

Harry had enough sense to keep his mouth shut, but his eyes danced with amusement. He took another sip and pulled Draco closer to him. Draco didn’t mind. In fact, he slid over willing, happy to be curled up to Harry as they sat in front of the Christmas tree.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Harry asked

“It’s Christmas. I thought I might pop in on Luna—”

“Stay with me.”

“I…”

“No, I mean.” Harry blushed. “Not like that. Not yet. I just thought… since it's Christmas, maybe you’d like to spend the day together? Maybe share dinner?

Draco didn’t bother trying to hide his smile. “I’d love that. I was planning on cooking anyway.” He didn’t add how much he wanted Harry there, to have his company on Christmas day, even if they didn’t have gifts for each other.

“I’d like it too.” Harry smiled, leaning in to kiss the edge of Draco’s mouth. “Marshmallow,” he whispered.

Draco hummed in contentment. “I also think that I owe the little Weasley a very large thank you gift.”

“So do I,” Harry agreed. “So do I.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You can show your appreciation for the author in a comment below. ♥
> 
> This work is part of HD Erised, an on-going anonymous fest. The creator will be revealed January 7th.


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